Opportunity fell in my lap this week: an impromptu weekend away at the beach. Sounds perfect, right?
Except I am old. There’s nothing like aging to make a spontaneous vacation a nightmare, and I’m just talking about the packing.
When I was in my twenties, packing was easy. Clean underwear, a toothbrush, maybe a spare T-shirt, and I was ready to go. (I mean, the essentials, like Tampax, were always already in my purse anyway.)
You know what I remember about those trips in my twenties? Being cold. Washing clothes in a hotel sink. Not smelling great as I trekked around Disney World in damp, sink-washed clothes. (But I did have clean teeth.)
I’d like to think I’m wiser now. I even own matching luggage, which might officially qualify me as a grownup. As I was preparing for my three days away, I started with the basics: clean underwear. Two nights and three days should mean packing two pairs (I’d already be wearing a pair on the first day when I arrived), except . . . what if I was caught in a scattered shower and got soaked to my bones? Better throw in an extra pair. But showers can happen at any time, several times a day. I emptied my entire underwear drawer into the suitcase and continued.
Socks: not even going to debate this one. Entire drawer. Done.
Clothes: It was warm out, so two pairs of shorts seemed reasonable. It might get chilly later in the day, though, so I packed some jeans. Except what if we wanted to go out to dinner somewhere nice? I threw in some dress pants. Now I needed a top to match those dress pants. Would it be cool or muggy? One short-sleeved, one long-sleeved fancy top, in the bag. But I can’t wear tops like that during the day with shorts—I’d look ridiculous. Two—no, those showers are just too risky—seven T-shirts went in the suitcase. One long-sleeved non-dressy shirt topped it off. And a sweatshirt. And a raincoat. And an iron in case anything got wrinkled from being in the bag.
Now I needed shoes. I could just wear the same pair all weekend, but that would be ridiculous. If I wore sneakers, I’d get weird tan lines walking down the beach. And I couldn’t wear sandals all weekend—what if I wanted to take a long walk? And neither were appropriate for dinner out—I’d need sensible flats for that. All three were wedged into the suitcase—ooh! Wedges! Better pack those too, just in case!
Now I needed to take care of my body for the weekend. I’m on prednisone for a herniated disc in my lower back, plus muscle relaxants, plus sometimes nothing helps but naproxen and a back brace. And my stomach gets upset when I travel—better throw some Pepto and Mylanta in there. What if I got a headache? Stubbed my toe? Got sunburn? In went the Tylenol, Band-Aids, and aloe gel.
Finally, I was at the girly stuff. I don’t wear makeup, so you’d think this would be easier than it was, but I have curly hair, so no. I needed my frizz-defying mousse and twist-and-curl solution (Paul Mitchell. Great stuff). Plus my special brush. And lotion, in case my skin dried out. And tweezers—I just won’t travel without them, because there’s nothing like a vacation to make a random chin hair spontaneously sprout. And the body wash I like so much because it makes me smell like cookies.
Mmm, cookies. Snacks! I needed snacks!
. . . Seven luggage bags later, I was ready to go. I had to rent a truck to be able to bring it all with me. My mother looked horrified when I showed up at her beach house. We had to store my extra bags on the outside porch.
And after all that, I forgot my toothbrush.
Except I am old. There’s nothing like aging to make a spontaneous vacation a nightmare, and I’m just talking about the packing.
When I was in my twenties, packing was easy. Clean underwear, a toothbrush, maybe a spare T-shirt, and I was ready to go. (I mean, the essentials, like Tampax, were always already in my purse anyway.)
You know what I remember about those trips in my twenties? Being cold. Washing clothes in a hotel sink. Not smelling great as I trekked around Disney World in damp, sink-washed clothes. (But I did have clean teeth.)
I’d like to think I’m wiser now. I even own matching luggage, which might officially qualify me as a grownup. As I was preparing for my three days away, I started with the basics: clean underwear. Two nights and three days should mean packing two pairs (I’d already be wearing a pair on the first day when I arrived), except . . . what if I was caught in a scattered shower and got soaked to my bones? Better throw in an extra pair. But showers can happen at any time, several times a day. I emptied my entire underwear drawer into the suitcase and continued.
Socks: not even going to debate this one. Entire drawer. Done.
Clothes: It was warm out, so two pairs of shorts seemed reasonable. It might get chilly later in the day, though, so I packed some jeans. Except what if we wanted to go out to dinner somewhere nice? I threw in some dress pants. Now I needed a top to match those dress pants. Would it be cool or muggy? One short-sleeved, one long-sleeved fancy top, in the bag. But I can’t wear tops like that during the day with shorts—I’d look ridiculous. Two—no, those showers are just too risky—seven T-shirts went in the suitcase. One long-sleeved non-dressy shirt topped it off. And a sweatshirt. And a raincoat. And an iron in case anything got wrinkled from being in the bag.
Now I needed shoes. I could just wear the same pair all weekend, but that would be ridiculous. If I wore sneakers, I’d get weird tan lines walking down the beach. And I couldn’t wear sandals all weekend—what if I wanted to take a long walk? And neither were appropriate for dinner out—I’d need sensible flats for that. All three were wedged into the suitcase—ooh! Wedges! Better pack those too, just in case!
Now I needed to take care of my body for the weekend. I’m on prednisone for a herniated disc in my lower back, plus muscle relaxants, plus sometimes nothing helps but naproxen and a back brace. And my stomach gets upset when I travel—better throw some Pepto and Mylanta in there. What if I got a headache? Stubbed my toe? Got sunburn? In went the Tylenol, Band-Aids, and aloe gel.
Finally, I was at the girly stuff. I don’t wear makeup, so you’d think this would be easier than it was, but I have curly hair, so no. I needed my frizz-defying mousse and twist-and-curl solution (Paul Mitchell. Great stuff). Plus my special brush. And lotion, in case my skin dried out. And tweezers—I just won’t travel without them, because there’s nothing like a vacation to make a random chin hair spontaneously sprout. And the body wash I like so much because it makes me smell like cookies.
Mmm, cookies. Snacks! I needed snacks!
. . . Seven luggage bags later, I was ready to go. I had to rent a truck to be able to bring it all with me. My mother looked horrified when I showed up at her beach house. We had to store my extra bags on the outside porch.
And after all that, I forgot my toothbrush.
All of these are mine.
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